Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy.

Nothing like a good mistake (made by Cid) to speed things up. Speaking of Cid, I tried to give you some tiny hints waaay back in chapter 3 that he was the doctor. Heheheh. But I'm still trying to warm you up to Solomon...

(Aww, man, I know this is chapter 15, but I'm just looking so much forward to write chapter 16!)

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Paige returned a week after New Year. She had planned to come back earlier, but her family had kept her from leaving. It was a little bit annoying, since the first day of school was tomorrow. It couldn't be helped, though – it was her fault for telling them about her... predicament. The moment she told her family what her doctor had said, they were so rattled she might as well have said she was already dead. She had of course waited until after Christmas and New Year's Eve were over before telling them. She didn't want to spoil the fun (her brother loved New Year's Eve more than any other day of the year - because of all the fireworks, no doubt). But she had told them in the end, anyway. Their reactions were understandable.

Her small house was warm and welcoming. By the looks of it, Sephiroth wasn't there.

But as she walked into the living room, still fully dressed, she could at least hear John Smoth. He was rapping in sync with the CD-player – he was listening to the CD she had given him for Christmas. Sephiroth had bothered to put it on for him before leaving. That was unusually kind.

Paige frowned, thinking.

Sephiroth was not there at the moment, all right, but...

… He would return, right? Like the other times? But now that she had revealed the whereabouts of his sword, and since his wounds had healed long ago, what if... Paige frowned. Still wearing her thick jacket and snow-covered boots, Paige flung herself to the living room floor with all the force of a murderous bulldozer – right by the table. Glaring at the underside of the table (still with all the force of a murderous bulldozer), she quickly came to the conclusion that the murderously-large-and-inconveniently-long sword that had been under the table for months, had turned into a lack-of-a-murderously-large-and-inconveniently-long sword. Personally, Paige felt that despite the fact that the sword and its elf-like, supernatural, magic-casting wielder were both very dangerous indeed, she would rather have them here, where she could see them. Not even the sword wall mount was under the table anymore.

"John Smoth, where's Sephiroth?" she asked, struggling to get up, since she was still wearing all her outerwear. She probably looked ridiculous. So much for the murderous bulldozer.

"It's so funky, so funky!"

"John Smoth-"

"Yeah, 'sup, man?"

"Smoth!"

"Takin' chances. Got my eyes on ya," rapped John Smoth, bobbing his head.

"... Hip hop stinks," tried Paige. John Smoth quietened and rustled his feathers.

"Disrespect hip-hop and I'll spit in you' face!" he squawked – his oldest, most practised line. Besides "I got my eye on ya," of course.

Useless.

She had to admit, though, that sometimes his replies were frighteningly smart. She vaguely wondered where her mother had gotten hold of him. Paige narrowed her eyes. In the window frame was a small glass bowl with bird food. The seeds in it were barely even touched. That meant it must have been refilled a very, very short while ago. Which meant someone must have been here, or must still be around.

Sephiroth, obviously. Or... hopefully.

During her visit to her family, she'd been watching news more than anything else – to hear about Shinra's fiends and other supernatural things. During the vacation she'd thought about the flying man in London. It couldn't be anyone else than Sephiroth. Who else could fly? She'd seen it broadcasted over and over again. Among other things, she remembered the man saying somethin about the 'Black Materia'. What was that? No, more importantly, fiends were showing up more and more frequently. Apparently some of them reappeared in the very same places over and over again. A number of people had been gravely injured. Many of the States had allowed people to carry arms to protect themselves, but more often than not that just led to nervousness among those who weren't used to be armed. Accidents had already happened. But despite all the commotion, the number of fiends had diminished the last few weeks.

Probably because Sephiroth had the Masamune. Paige shivered involuntarily.

He had heard her arrive.

Though he had been in the snowy garden, she hadn't noticed him. That he did not mind. He was busy with something else. While she had been away, one of Shinra's larger fiends had appeared outside her house – by chance – and before Sephiroth sent it to the world of the dead, it had managed to step on the outhouse. Needless to say, the old building had been crumpled to the ground by the monster's weight. There simply was no helping it. Therefore, since Paige had mentioned at some point that her father had promised to turn the outhouse into a sauna, and since she had given Sephiroth a set of Rubik's cubes for Christmas, and since he had not yet paid his rent (and was not planning to), and finally because it would scathe his pride to admit that he had not managed to prevent the large fiend from ruining Paige's outhouse, he had decided some days ago that building a sauna might not be a bad idea.

But he wouldn't tell Paige. She would have to find it on her own. Also, he would not tell her he was the one who had made it.

That said, it was an impressive building, despite not being painted. It had cost more than a only little to make. But alas, for him, money was not much of a problem. Sephiroth smirked. He had finished it yesterday – now he was just checking whether there was something he had forgotten. The only difference from the day before was that it was now completely covered in snow. That was the reason Paige and whoever drove her here hadn't noticed it.

Sephiroth turned and walked back to the house through the deep snow, the hilt of his Masamune tucked safely – familiarly – in his left hand.

When she saw Sephiroth come inside, his expression as reflecting and sceptical as ever, she felt joy. Her joy was mercilessly crushed into the semblance of a mashed potato very soon, though, because of his monstrous sword. Forget the thought of herself being a murderous bulldozer – that sword was beyond her by far. Compared to it she was like a miniscule version of Thomas the Tank Engine. To her relief, though, Sephiroth attached his sword by its hilt to the wall mount (the one she had bought way back when she had hidden his sword under the table). Now the wall mount was on the wall next to the door. She hadn't seen it.

Now that he wasn't holding his sword, though, she felt a little better. A little. Why did she want Sephiroth around, again?

"Uh, hi. Happy New Year," she said, although the new year hadn't brought her a lot of happiness just yet.

"Likewise," he said, his face guarded. She didn't know what to make of it.

"... So, were the Rubik's cubes much of a challenge?" she asked. Despite herself, she couldn't hold back a smirk.

He, too, smirked at that.

"I have been busy with other matters, Shinra among them. But I have solved all the cubes except the largest – that one, I have not yet tried." A small pause ensued, during which Paige waited for her smirk to disappear. It didn't.

"Ok. Save it for when I'm around, then," she said. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't stifle her smirk. It was as if it was a part of her mask already. And how could it hurt? She wasn't going to be around for too long. She might as well challenge herself a little.

"Take your seats, please!" said the teacher, her voice shrill and impatient. A tough start of the year. The students shuffled slowly to their seats, chattering on their way, showing off things they'd been given for Christmas. Paige was already seated. She was leaning away from Solomon, who was trying to persuade her to tell him about her Christmas. He was using his most velvety, gentle voice. Half of the girls in the room were throwing glances at him. Maybe they were drooling at him mentally.

"I have something important to tell you, so please don't waste our time," added the teacher, a little louder. Her eyes flickered to Paige's a few times, but she didn't think much of it.

The others settled down and directed their attention at the teacher, who became very still. She seemed at loss of words. Again her eyes flickered to Paige's, not looking nearly as strict as usual.

A cold chill ran down Paige's spine.

"It is the wish of the school principal and... Paige's parents that... you be informed about-"

No.

No way.

Disaster.

"NO!" she shouted, on her feet with her fists on her desk before she even realized it. Her face was stiff as a block of ice. Her eyes were colder, no doubt.

"That is something you should ask me about before you go ahead and announce it to everybody else," she said rigidly, her voice monotone. "And I won't hear of it." What were her parents doing? Telling on her? Did they want her to spend the rest of her life being pitied by everybody at her school?

"But-"
"No."

"I-"
"No. Please start the lesson now."

Then she sat down and slowly assumed her usual disinterested face, as if nothing had happened. The teacher had grown red – not with embarrassment, but anger and annoyance. That was how things were supposed to be.

During lunch, the school was buzzing with questions about what was wrong with her. Nobody knew. Thank goodness for that. In the beginning she had felt a little like a rat in a cat alley. Now she felt a bit more like a rat observing cats in an alley from somewhere out of reach. She hoped it would stay like that.

"Paige," said a light, beautiful voice.

… Sierra, the school princess. It had to be. No one else she knew of sounded that much like a female version of Solomon. Paige turned slowly, her face blank.

"Hm?" she asked.

But Sierra looked different today. She was still as gorgeous as usual, by all means, and her long and dark and wavy hair looked as long and dark and wavy as usual. But she was looking away, as if she was about to say something she didn't like.

"I... Well, my father is this school's principal, you know that, right? ...So I kind of asked him... I kind of asked him what was wrong with you." She glanced up, her golden eyes searching Paige's face, which by the way was even more stoney than before. "I'm sorry," Sierra added.

"...No. No problem. Just don't tell anyone. I don't want to be pitied for the rest of my life," Paige said quickly in a light whisper. She stared intently at Sierra while speaking, her 'mask' giving way as a warning smile made its way to her face. She probably looked a bit dangerous, or possibly slightly mad.

"Of course, I'll- I'll stay quiet," the school princess said nervously, stepping backwards and away while talking.

Paige turned the other way and strode away, as keen to remove herself from Sierra as Sierra was to get away from her.

Later the same day, when school was over and people were leaving, Paige was packing her bag with deliberate slowness. Her plan was to have a chat with the headmaster and tell him to stay quiet and not to listen to her parents. Maybe he could even talk some sense into them if they called her school again. It couldn't hurt to try. Meanwhile, though, she had to make him talk the other teachers into staying quiet as well. Paige didn't know how many of them knew about her leukemia.

She didn't get that far, though. The moment she walked out the door into the empty hall, she stood face to face with Solomon.

"... Paige," he said quietly, searching her eyes.

He was so close she strode backwards into the empty classroom again with her hands up in front of her, wearing a stiff expression. Solomon walked to the door, but not closer. He wore an apologetic expression. That didn't change the fact that he was a head taller than her and had shoulders almost as broad as Sephiroth's.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you, I... I was just wondering what the teacher was about to say this morning. Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice velvety soft and kind and worried and genuine. His eyes were similar – sky blue and glowing mercilessly at her until she looked away, her face still stiff. His blond hair might as well have been a halo. This man was her complete opposite in every way, it seemed to her now.

"Nothing that won't pass," she said, hoisting up her backpack some as she readied to pass him.

When she walked closer, though, he raised an arm to block the door.

"Please," he said. "Please tell me what's wrong." He looked like he was in pain. His eyes were radiating with it.

Paige set her jaw and turned on her heel, a plan already formed in her mind. She rushed to the closest window. It opened with a jerk and the sound of tearing ice, and within a second she had thrown her backpack out. Then she followed. Lucky thing this was the first floor. In a small fit of panic, she slammed the window shut behind her and tried to walk out of there, pulling her backpack behind her. The snow was deeper than ever – up past her knees. She was probably moving an inch per second.

Very soon, she heard the frosty crunch of feet landing in snow. She didn't need to turn around to know it was Solomon.

"I don't want to tell you anything," she muttered loudly through her teeth. Behind her, Solomon struggled in the snow as well. He had longer legs than her, though, so it was easier for him to move. The world was just unfair like that. You had to be realistic about these things.

"Paige, if something's wrong, let me help," he said from behind her. "I'll do everything I can. Anything!"

Paige shuffled and strived through the snow like a duck or goose or some other waddling creature. Behind her, Solomon endured in his struggles to catch up.

"You can't do anything!" Paige exclaimed, almost falling on her face as she tried walking faster. Solomon didn't say anything, although he was already by her side. Together they waddled through the snow, racing with all the style of two drunken penguins. Before long he was ahead of her and made a sharp turn, then stopped in front of her. Paige didn't want to turn and head back – not with all that snow awaiting her. It was a lot shorter to the walkway just yards away (which had been cleared of snow).

"Solomon," she started, and he stopped before saying whatever he'd planned to say. He seemed to be listening with his entire body. "You can't help me with this. Please listen to me: Don't waste your time on me, because I'm not going to stay here for much longer."

He frowned, confused.

"You're... moving away?" he tried quietly. Paige stared at his light blond locks, avoiding his eyes. How could he not be out of breath? He was radiating knight-on-white-horse aura even now.

"I," she started, but what could she say? "Just move out of my way, please. Now."

But instead, he reached out and took one of her hands and held it fast. She stared at their hands like they were aliens, and dangerously lethal aliens at that. Then, with her free arm, she performed a block she had learned at karate (from her karate teacher, Solomon's father, ironically enough) to get his hands off her wrist. The block was over before Solomon saw what happened, and for some long seconds, the two of them gawked at her surprising move together. She didn't know she could block with so much force. Talk about snap. Her karate teacher would be proud.

Then she was brought back to reality as she remembered that Solomon knew karate too. He was probably twenty times better than her too.

"Uuh, if, if you don't step aside, I'll punch you," she tried, probably in vain. Solomon just smiled his soft smile – seemingly charmed by her lack of confidence.

"... I don't think you will," he said quietly, warmly.

Oh?

What was this?

"Yes I will," she retorted grumpily, but with a straight face, glancing around for an escape route or something she could use to distract him.

"... Paige, you're hiding something. Are you afraid of telling me?" he asked. She could tell what was coming. A super long tale of how much she could trust him with anything and everything, and how he would never tell on her or let her down, and how he would help her until the very end. She didn't doubt that he'd try his best to do it, for as long he could. But she wasn't going to stay for very long. Months, at most. Solomon needed to stop wasting his time on her. He was handsome and gentlemanly and masculine and kind enough to pick anybody.

But he needed to forget her, so that when she suddenly wasn't around anymore, it wouldn't hurt him as much. He was a good guy, after all.

"No," she muttered. "But I need you to do something for me."

"... What?" he asked, his eyes alight with the possibilities her words might give him.

"Forget me. Or you'll... you may be devastated, or hurt, or something," replied Paige, watching as he frowned with worry and confusion. He looked like he wanted to shake her shoulders to make her talk, but he didn't. Obviously he knew she wouldn't like that.

"Why...?" he asked. "What's wrong?" His eyes were so intense that instead of looking back into them, she had to concentrate on the bridge of his nose. It worked to some degree.

This is useless.

He'd find out in the end anyway.

It would be better to give him some time to prepare for her imminent death, however wrong it sounded.

Here goes...

"... Lew-kee-mee-ah," she said quietly, dragging out the word while pointing vaguely at herself. Leukemia – blood cancer.

She might as well have stabbed him.

Never before had she seen anyone grow so deathly pale so fast. All warmth drained from his face. For a second he looked through her as is she were somewhere else. Then he refocused and his face changed. If she were asked to describe his expression, she'd say he looked like someone who had just been dealt his final blow, but had yet to realize how badly hurt he was. But in a matter of seconds he understood everything, it seemed. He was in shock – he opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a slow, warm plume of white smoke in the cold air. Suddenly powerless, he leaned forward so that she couldn't see his face. There was no doubt in her mind that he was in pain and didn't want her to see it in his face. For a moment Paige couldn't get herself to move.

She'd hurt him.

Or...

… Maybe he thought she was joking. She frowned.

"...Some months from now, I won't be around anymore," she said in something akin to a whisper. "It's too late to treat it. Even if I do, I'll only get a little extra time to live, and I'll be chained to a hospital bed until I die. And I don't want-"

Before she finished speaking, he caught her in a death grip of an embrace.

Almost immediately she panicked and started pushing him away, but he didn't relent. He was trembling, and she heard a sharp intake of breath. But she was was horror-struck, and his sudden embrace had taken all the air out of her lungs. With all her might and strength she tried pushing him away and prying his arms off.

"Stop! ...Let go, or I'll kick you! I mean it!" And although her words were easy enough to hear, her voice sounded muffled and weak, and shaky. "I'll punch and hit and kick and, and- I'll..."

"Paige," he said. This time, his voice was miserable. He sounded heartbroken. It frightened her without end.

"Paige, you can punch me and hit me and kick me all you want," he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "If that's the only thing you'll ever need me for, I'll be here, ready and waiting. I'm not joking. You're more important to me in this world than anything."

Her mind went blank.

"I'll help you," he continued, his voice low. "I won't give up. If the only thing you need is something to punch, or to yell at, or even ignore..." He tracked off. Paige was nearly crying, and she hated it. She was already terrified, and now she felt guilty beyond compare. Her knees were weakening by the second.

"Even if... Even if one day you're not here anymore, I'll keep you in my heart. I'll live for you, and dream for you, and remember you. I'll be brave for you. You're in my heart. Deep in my heart." His words were muffled. "So while you're still here, don't give up."

Before she could help herself, she sobbed. Nothing she said to him would help.

"I understand..." he said, his voice thin, on the point of breaking, yet as soothing as he could muster.

At some point her knees had given away beneath her, but he was still holding her close, his head bent down, buried in her shoulder. She thought that perhaps he was crying, and didn't want her to see – maybe that was why he hugged her for so long.

Sephiroth felt her presence before he saw or heard her. He was in the living room, but he could still sense her as she came closer. Frowning in suspicion he got to his feet and walked close enough to the window to look outside.

As he thought.

She is not alone.

By her side was none other than her ultimate source of distress. Solomon, was it? He was walking by her side up the snowy road, his expression torn all the time except when Paige looked at him. Then he smiled as if to apologize, or comfort her. Paige, on the other hand, was wearing a murderous frown, which occasionally wavered. She was trying desperately to keep some distance between them. Her face was red with the effort. But her feeble attempts were in vain – Solomon held her fast, his grip unrelenting at her shoulders as he supported her. On his back were two backpacks. One of them belonged to Paige.

And although Paige seemed out of breath and unable to walk in a straight line on her own, Sephiroth found himself highly displeased that she could not even muster the strength to push the blonde man away.

A minute later she got inside. She muttered angrily at Solomon – something about not telling anybody else about some matter – then, after some seconds, she shut the door. Sephiroth could still hear her breathing as she struggled to get off her duvet jacket and kick off her shoes. When she shuffled inside, the first thing she did was to scowl suspiciously in his direction. He was standing by the window, next to John Smoth. From there it was easy to see her flushed face. It was less easy to tell whether it was caused by the biting cold or something relating to Solomon.

"... Did you see that?" she asked, her voice meek. Her expression was different – vivid, in fact. It was rather distracting.

"Solomon, I mean?" she repeated.

"... Yes." One would have to be blind not to see that flashy man and his attempts at wooing Paige.

"I tried to make him go home, to leave me alone. But he's smart." Smart? He raised an eyebrow at that. If Solomon was smart, what did that make Sephiroth? Paige looked displeased.

"He lured me to tell him about my leukemia." Now she looked lost. It was odd how fast her expression changed. He wasn't used to it. "And Sierra knows, too. She made her dad tell her, since he's the principal."

"And how did he find out?" Sephiroth queried. Her expression darkened.

"My parents called him. I just barely stopped our teacher from telling it to the whole class. But now Solomon knows... That Solomon..." And he could tell she felt miserable, although he couldn't even see her face now, since she was looking at her feet. A silence ensued, filled only with the memory of the last word she had spoken, a word that made him feel bitter and irked. Solomon, it seemed, had gained a rather unnerving dominance in Paige's mind.

What to do about that?

R.R.

(John Smoth's got his eye on ya)